


Happy Ending

by KnightNight7203



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightNight7203/pseuds/KnightNight7203
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When the first bit of blood starts pulsing through her again and her skin begins to warm, I'm the first to know." In which Tris isn't dead, because really, who does that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Tobias**

_“What is it?” I say._

_Cara shakes her head._

_“Where’s Tris?” I say_

_“I’m sorry, Tobias.”_

_“Sorry about what?” Christina says roughly. “Tell us what_ happened! _”_

_“Tris went into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb,” Cara says. She survived the death serum, and set off the memory serum,, but she . . . she was shot.”_

I don’t process the words, I can’t, not because Tris hasn’t been shot before but because the words have never been uttered with a tone quite so heavy with finality. Like there’s no hope. But I must somehow hear what Cara is telling me, because I go immediately into recovery mode, processing my options and selecting the best one. There’s no choice, really. There’s only one thing left to do.

“We have to get her out of there,” I say. _If any of her is still here._ The words hover unsaid, lingering on the fringes of all of our consciouses.

Cara cringes. “We’re not sure if the death serum is still in the air, Tobias. We can’t risk any more deaths. Not today. We’re waiting for the all-clear.”

But I’m already gone, having taken off down the hallway immediately after uttering my intentions. Even if they have already given up hope, I cannot.

There’s a small part of me that stops to think that since I could resist the simulations, like her – like _Tris_ , I force myself to think her name, who is _not dead_ – that maybe the death serum won’t have any effect on me, either. Even though I couldn’t resist the truth serum, there is a chance. But the rest of me doesn’t care, anyway. If she dies, I die. One way or the other. I was going to be by her side, no matter what.

My lungs get a little tight, my breathing labored, and tears sting my eyes, but before my body even registers its desire to collapse I am through, breathing pure air and feeling like it’s harder to draw a breath at the same time because I see her.

Her broken body.

_Tris._

I must be imagining the blood, the stillness, the horrible feel of emptiness that hovers in the air. Because if it is real, if it is truly possible that a body can bleed that much and turn so pale, then I must resign myself to the fact that there is nothing in this world left to hope for and accept that humanity at its core is the wickedness we fought and gave so much to hard to suppress.

The walk to where she lies across the room is the longest thirty seconds of my life. My mind goes back to her walk to her execution, and I wonder if this is similar to how that felt for her. Life as I know it will be ended in an entirely different way when I reach her, but it will end all the same.

I can’t force myself to touch her.

I’m not quite sure why. There’s a certain reverence, I’m sure, the reluctance to move her from the calm figure stretched out on the red-streaked tile. If there are guardian angels cradling her, I don’t want to get in their way.

But it’s mostly terror. Once I feel her lack of pulse, once I realize that no breath leaves her lips any longer, I will be forced to accept the truth that I hope for all I’m worth is only a nightmare.

Finally I can’t take it any more, I just have to feel her skin on mine, even if she is cold, so cold, almost like ice. _How long?_ I think dimly, in a blind panic. _How long have they left her here, all alone?_

And then I realize the truth – that it’s been less than an hour, and that the air in the weapons room is much colder than the rest of the compound in order to preserve the viruses and elongate their usefulness. The idea of the refrigeration reminds me of something we’d learned about once in school in what seems now like another life altogether, and an idea, a crazy, desperate idea, starts to form in my mind.

There is a red button blinking on the screen of one of the monitors in the room, similar to the com used in various other control rooms I’ve seen. I press it, and voices emit from a speaker.

“Control to Weapons. What’s going on down there?”

I steel myself. “There’s been an accident. We need a stretcher, a defibrillator, and whatever life support you can get down the hall.” The call made, I return to Tris’s side and arrange myself cross-legged at her head. There is no blood staining her face, and I can almost pretend she is sleeping. Her hair forms a halo of gold around her head, and I carefully brush it away. She is so, so cold. I feel it in my fingers and in my chest.

I don’t know the first thing about reviving a body. Would it be better for Tris if I tried to start CPR and get her heart beating again? Should I leave her body chilled to prevent any decomposition that might begin if my breath warmed her? I settle for holding her hand, carefully arranging my fingers so that I’m not confronted with her disturbing lack of pulse.

Even when the doctors pile in in their sterilized clothing, wearing face masks and brandishing all sorts of tools and supplies, I refuse to let go. All through the emergency procedures and the surgery I’m there, and when the first bit of blood starts pulsing through her again and her skin begins to warm, I’m the first to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tris**

The first thing I am aware of is his hand.

For someone who’s usually so gentle, he has my fingers caught in a death grip, the joints pressing against each other with bruising force as his muscles contract unconsciously around me. I try to squeeze it back, but I’m not sure if I actually move or not – everything is still very fuzzy, and I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.

I think it takes a very long time before I can muster enough strength to open my eyes, because the light is coming into the room from a different angle. At least, I think it’s just a room. For all I know, it could be another prison. I’m dimly aware that I’ve gone and done something stupid and illegal again. What, though, I can’t exactly remember.

Tobias’s eyes are closed, and I think he must be sleeping. He doesn’t look very peaceful, though. His face is pale and drawn, and the dark circles etched under his eyes make him look like a corpse. I don’t like it. I want to turn away, but I find I’m not strong enough to do more than blink up at him. Then the lights dim and flicker, but I think that’s just me succumbing to unconsciousness again.

The next thing my mind registers is his voice.

He’s talking to me, and though I have a hard time focusing on the words, I know they’re full of love and concern. I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. He blinks in surprise, and then I think I see tears running down his cheeks.

“Tris?” he whispers, his voice cracking. It sounds like he’s under water. “You’re awake?”

I try to nod, but my head hurts, so I grunt out a noise of agreement instead. It’s an ugly noise, and I desperately want some water so my throat won’t be so dry, but he’s smiling like I’ve just said the most beautiful thing in the world. I start coughing – it’s almost like there’s something in my throat that makes it weird to breath – but Tobias looks panicked and flips a couple switches near the bed and the blackness returns.

When I wake up again I know I’m ready to stay alert this time. I shift restlessly without opening my eyes, trying to obtain a more comfortable position. My chest and stomach feel funny, like they’re stuffed full of cotton, and I can’t really find a position that feels right. I give up quickly. I want enough energy to speak to Tobias today.

There is another person in the room with him, and maybe my ears are just sensitive, but it seems like they’re shouting.

“We shouldn’t have taken the breathing tube out.”

“I’m telling you, she’s going to wake up soon!” That’s Tobias’s voice. I think they’re talking about me. Breathing tube. That doesn’t sound pleasant. It may be one of the few things I’ve never been forced to endure before.

“Even if she does – which there’s no reason to believe she will, she’s given us none of the telltale signs – there’s no telling what state her mind will be in. We don’t know if she’ll be able to eat on her own. I don’t know whether the breathing will last.”

I manage to crack my eyes open. Tobias is standing by a window, the light from outside highlighting his thin frame. He’s arguing with a man in a white coat with glasses. They both look angry.

“Of course it will.” Four’s voice is stubborn, harsh. “She’s going to be fine. Her mind wasn’t effected – I know her, and she was exactly right when she looked at me–“

I choose that moment to make my entrance. “Tobias?” My voice is rough and raspy, but it’s there. Both men jump and whirl around to face me. I cough pathetically and try for a grin, but it turns out as more of a grimace, I’m sure.

Tobias runs to my side, not before shooting a triumphant look at the doctor, who is still gaping with his mouth open. “How,” he manages to mumble, and this time my grin is strong. I clear my throat; it’s not so scratchy anymore. “I’m Divergent,” I inform him, my voice steady. “I’m Insurgent. I’m Allegiant.”

“Ultimately, she’s Tris,” said Four, smugly, proudly. He runs a hand through my hair gently, cradling my cheek in his palm.

“How long was I out?” I ask curiously. I’m still not sure what exactly is wrong with me, but I figure that can wait. The doctor, who has clearly been waiting for an opportunity, jumps in.

“A little over a week,” he says, managing to put an incredible amount of distaste into those five innocent words. “Not nearly as long as you should have been.”

Four glowers at the doctor and waves him out of the room. Though he is clearly reluctant to do so, he obeys. So I’m not a prisoner, then. Four shuts the door, and then approaches me again.

“I hate you,” he tells me affectionately. “You are trying to kill me, aren’t you? Your life goal is to make me suffer as many heart attacks as you can possibly manage.”

I clear my throat again. “Um, maybe . . . But, I don’t quite remember what I did. Exactly. So. . . yeah.”

His face darkens, and for the first time since I’ve awakened, it loses that teasing quality. “You died, Tris.”

_I died._

“Oh.”

The corners of his mouth tighten. “Yes. _Oh._ ”

Suddenly it comes back – the serum, the plan, David. I don’t know what hits me the hardest – the memory of how messed up things became in an instant, or the knowledge that somehow, everything seems fixed now.

“Was I . . . Are you . . . I’m not dead now . . .”

He snorts. “No, but you gave it your best shot. You have done nothing but fight us since we got you out of that room. Your brain activity wouldn’t register. Your heart kept stopping. You wouldn’t absorb nutrients.” He sighs, and I notice how tired he looks. “I _know_ you’re trying to kill me _.”_

“I’m not,” I assure him, squeezing his hand. I wince. For some reason, that hurts.

He doesn’t miss my flinch. “You’re also riddled with bullet holes,” he informs me matter-of-factly. “Most of your blood is not your own, since you basically bled out in the Weapons Room, and you might have some brain damage depending on what shut down before your body temperature cooled adequately. So, needless to say, you won’t be doing much for awhile.”

“Oh.” I need to come up with something better to say.

He sighs again. “But we’ll get through it together.”

I smile, leaning into him as he sinks down onto the bed and pulls me carefully against his chest. “Not to sound cocky or jinx it,” I say, “but I’m pretty sure we can get through anything at this point.”

He chuckles, and though the vibrations cause a twinge in my stomach where thick bandages are wrapped around me, I don’t mind. “Go back to sleep, Tris,” he tells me.

For once, I don’t fight him. It sounds like he’s been through a lot these past few days. And besides, though I wouldn’t admit it – at this point, I’m ready for anther nap. I’ve had enough trouble to last a lifetime.


End file.
